


we watched the sun set over the castle on the hill

by elsaclack



Series: it all comes back to you [7]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Originally Posted on Tumblr, and since dan goor isn't going to be doing that any time soon, anyways my kids deserve to be happy, i had no idea where this was going until it got there, only a tiny shred of angst, straight write through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 23:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsaclack/pseuds/elsaclack
Summary: It’s not constant, but it’s enough - it strikes a chord deep within her, reverberating back through the years and vibrating in her very bones, each instance blazing in her memory like a makeshift patchwork quilt spanning back over a decade to that first lonely stakeout in their prologue.A series of snapshots of Jake Peralta's pursuit of happiness.





	we watched the sun set over the castle on the hill

“I don’t think I’m allowed to be happy.”

He’d said it that very first time on an overnight stakeout, two years and some months into their partnership, and she’d been so caught off-guard by it - by the rawness, the vulnerability, the pain - that she hadn’t immediately responded. He was staring straight ahead in the general direction of the building they were supposed to be monitoring but she knew from the glassy quality of his gaze that his mind was a million miles away. She’d stared, and stared some more, waiting for the punchline.

It never came.

“Of - of course you’re allowed to be happy, Peralta,” she’d said haltingly, fumbling over the unfamiliar terrain. This was all new to her then, the insecurity and the exposed nerves, the need to be comforted and reassured. Her heart had throbbed uncomfortably at the humorless laugh he’d answered her with, the one that seemed small and quiet but also somehow filling each corner of the silence they were encased in. “You _are_ ,” she’d sounded more confident then, more stubborn - they always _did_ disagree on things, and she always _did_ prove herself right when it came down to a debate. “You’re a pain in my ass ninety percent of the time, but you’re a good person. You absolutely deserve to be happy.”

The laugh escaped in a huff of air through his nose and delirium made her eyes prickle and tear up.

Not the realization that he didn’t believe her.

They didn’t talk about it again, not for the rest of that stakeout or the next morning, and after her second cup of coffee and fourth new case assigned, she forgot all about it.

“Looks like I’m all out of happiness.”

He’d muttered it that second time as they both piled into the back of a cab, after digging his wallet out of his back pocket to find the billfold empty. He’d run his fingertips over his debit card half-heartedly; an understanding passed between them without words that if he were to try to run that card, it would come back rejected.

Something about the words rang familiar in her ears but the beat of the song playing in Shaw’s was still thrumming in her veins and she hadn’t had the time, energy, or patience to dissect it.

“Allow me to buy some happiness for you, Pineapples,” she’d said, only partially slurred from that third glass of wine he himself had purchased for her after losing to her in a rousing game of darts. He’d smiled serenely, already slumped over against the back seat, legs sprawled awkwardly so that he was practically spilling over the middle seat between them. His eyes stayed closed, but the smile never faltered. Even when she’d prodded him awake outside of her apartment building. “C’mon, get up.”

“Mm,” he’d hummed, weakly waved her off, burrowing down stubbornly into his leather jacket. “S’warm.”

“Yeah, it’s also warm in my apartment. C’mon, I just paid, let’s get out.”

“Wha’bout _my_ ‘partment?”

“I’ll give you a ride there in the morning.”

He’d clambered out slowly and awkwardly, stumbling so violently once his feet hit the ground she genuinely feared he might go down face-first until he managed to grab onto the back bumper of her car parked at the curb. He’d waited for her, allowed her to pull his arm over her shoulders and to sling her own arm around his waist to guide him up her front steps. He’d started humming something she thought might be _Auld Lang Syne_ \- she hadn’t really known how deep the _Die Hard_ obsession went back then - and she’d snorted and made a mental note to ask him about it in the morning (“I don’t speak nerd. Are you talking about the New Year’s Eve song?” He grumbled between downing Advil tablets).

She got him inside and had given him one of the spare shirts she had lying around for brother-visiting purposes and had even set the couch for him (even though he’d been in her kitchen eating half the meager contents of her refrigerator at the time); she’d laughed when he came shuffling out of the kitchen with Oreo cookie crumbs stuck in his five-o’clock shadow and a brand-new stain on that ratty old Sex Pistols t-shirt and his hair already in complete disarray. He’d fallen face-first into the couch cushions and she’d winced when he’d wiped his face rather numbly on her sheets but then he’d turned his head to one side and snuffled out this sigh of relief and something tranquility had nestled around her heart.

“You good, Jake?” She’d whispered.

Her answer comes in the form of a quiet snore.

“Am I just _not allowed_ to be happy?”

That one was a loud lament, a declaration to the universe, one that had rung out from the copy room to fill the entire precinct. Amy had looked around with everyone else, her confusion quickly giving way to concern at the look of abject hopelessness on her partner’s face, turned down at the copier before him. There was a slump to his shoulders and a downward curve to his mouth that just screamed rejection and she couldn’t help it - she was out of her seat and quickly stealing toward him before she was even aware of making the decision.

“Everything okay in here?” She’d asked tentatively from the doorway. He’d glanced back at the sound of her voice but he didn’t perk up - he usually perked up - so with a sinking heart she’d gone the rest of the way in and closed the door behind her. “Jake?”

“The copier jammed,” he’d said, gesturing to it forlornly. “I was trying to make copies and - it jammed.”

“Oh, that’s just a faulty sensor.” She’d smiled reassuringly, pushing him backwards a step with hands on his upper arms before dropping to her knees before the printer. “You just have to pop this cover open and reach right through here…”

She’d talked him through it, explaining each action as she’d carried it out, and Jake had listened without a single interruption. It was unnerving - Jake had never been so quiet before - but when the jam was fixed and the machine whirred to life and began spitting out his copies, she’d looked up to find something soft and affectionate in his gaze.

“You are literally my hero,” he’d said, and while it rang with his usual level of sarcastic teasing, there was something else there, too - something reverent and honest, something…real.

“Is everything okay?” She’d asked slowly.

He’d looked bewildered for a moment. “Fine. Why?”

“You sounded upset earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, um…that was nothing. Just a bad day, y’know? Jammin’ printers and stuff. No big thang.”

He was nervous, which made her nervous, so she’d stood and nodded quickly. “Makes sense. ‘Kay. See you out there.”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t until she was back at her desk that it comes back to her in two beats - the stakeout and the cab home - but their desks created such a huge distance between them and he’d been smiling when he came out of the copy room so whatever heartfelt speech her brain had begun concocting faded far, far away.

“Happiness is fleeting and nothing matters at all.”

She thought she would be more prepared for that inevitable fourth time, but she never once counted on the quiet, defeated sigh to come after a rousing game of laser tag. He was staring after the other team - composed entirely of officers from Major Crimes, the center of which being The Vulture (who else) - and if Amy didn’t know any better, she’d think Jake’s entire sense of self-worth laid in that laser tag game.

(Based on the heaving chests and reddened faces and general sweatiness of those who’d emerged before Jake, she should have known that in that moment it absolutely unequivocally did.)

“It’s just laser tag, Jake,” she’d said, unable to keep the amused condescension out of her voice.

He’d snapped toward her, genuine annoyance in his gaze. “Yeah, well, I’d like to see _you_ handle a loss to Major Crimes well. This is all your fault, anyways, we would’ve _totally_ won if you’d stop being such a baby and just _play_ already -”

“First of all, I would handle a loss to Major Crimes _way_ better than you’re handling it. And secondly, _I sprained my ankle_ chasing after _your_ perp last week. If you wanna get technical about it, it’s _your_ fault I can’t play with you guys.”

“You sure are quick to throw out accusations like that when you’ve been chillin’ in the air conditioning eating _pizza_ for the last hour -”

“Oh, my God, just bone already,” Gina interrupted. They’d both jumped - Amy forgot Gina was even sitting behind her, and judging from the look in Jake’s eye he hadn’t even noticed her to begin with. “All the flirty sexual tension is getting old. You’re mucking up my feng sui.”

Jake recovered before Amy did. “Why don’t you take your feng sui over to the photo booth, Linetti?” He’d said contemptuously.

Gina scoffed but, to Amy’s amazement, vacated her seat. She’d floated off toward Charles and Rosa where they stood at the snack bar and Jake dropped into the seat opposite Amy’s, looking generally disgruntled and annoyed. “You smell like my entire childhood right now.” Amy told him with a wrinkled nose.

He’d narrowed his eyes. “I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.”

“Bad. I grew up in a house with seven boys, remember?”

“Right.” He’d paused, as if he was considering it. “I’m gonna take it as a compliment.” He’d said with a shrug.

“Whatever makes you happy.”

She’d been looking down at her pizza slice when she’d grumbled it - that’s how she missed his furtive glance and accompanying small smile.

“It’s like the universe has decided that I’m not allowed to be happy.”

She’d overheard the fifth one late one night. He was outside of the precinct and he was talking to someone on his phone and she’d slowed her quick approach, concern quickly bleeding into what was childish excitement at the prospect of sneaking up on him.

“I’m serious, Charles, it won’t even start. No. Yeah, I’m still in the parking garage. And I can’t call a cab because I just paid rent and I’m broke, like I’m talking can’t even make it two blocks from here broke. No, no, don’t - I’ll walk. I’m just - after what happened at Tactical Village, I…I dunno. Everything sucks. That’s all.”

He released a heavy sigh as Charles responded - probably half due to his situation and half in exasperation at whatever wild promises Charles made - and Amy retreats a pace or two, mentally chastising herself for eavesdropping. “Please don’t do that, Charles. I’ll just walk. It’s not that far. It’s ten PM and Vivian and the dogs are sleep, just - I’ll be fine. Thank you for being worried. I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

He hung the phone up and she’d panicked, sensing that he would turn, suddenly understanding that she was standing much to close to be innocent but much too far to actually say anything - 

“Amy?”

“Hey!” She’d called much too cheerfully, wincing at the look of confusion that flashed across his face. “I didn’t - I mean, I was gonna sneak up on you, but you were on the phone and I was trying to back away without actually scaring you -”

“I didn’t know you were here this late,” he said, glancing toward the precinct behind her. “I thought you left at seven.”

“I did. But I got down here and couldn’t remember if I labeled some evidence correctly, and I started overthinking, and -”

“Say no more,” he’d cut her off with a wry smile and she’d deflated, tension draining, a smile tugging at her face instead. “Well I’ll let you -”

“Are you going home?”

“Uh,” he’d glanced back at the parking garage, reaching to rub the back of his neck with a gloved hand. “Well, yeah, sorta. I’m walking home, actually.”

“What?” she’d poorly feigned surprise and he’d rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with your car?”

“Are you looking for an itemized list or -”

“I just meant - I can give you a ride home, Jake.”

“No, no, that’s okay. I’m, like, ten minutes in the opposite direction of your place. I’m good walking.”

“I really don’t mind.”

He’d chuckled almost nervously, casting a glance to his left, before turning back toward her. “Isn’t Teddy wondering where you are?”

She’d sworn there was something hesitant about his tone - something that rang both challenging and terrified, as if he wanted nothing more than to know everything and nothing at all at the same time.

“Teddy’s working an overnight shift tonight,” she’d said with a calm smile. He’d nodded and swallowed thickly. “The only ones missing me right now are my DVR and the microwave Atkins meal for one in my freezer. And maybe a beer.”

“Don’t bet on that,” he’d said so quietly she’d almost missed it. “Um, well…if it’s not too much trouble…”

“Yes or no, Jake?”

He’d huffed out a breath, looked her dead in the eye, and said, “yes.”

The silence is warm and comfortable in the soft glow of her dashboard lights and if Amy had been with Teddy she wouldn’t have hesitated to think of it as romantic. Even without Teddy there was a certain element of romance to it all - something about Brooklyn late at night makes her feel softer inside, as if she’s living inside her wildest childhood fantasy.

It had nothing to do with the man in the passenger’s seat beside her.

“Ames?” He’d called before he shut the door. She’d looked around at him, mind already going through the list of unwatched shows waiting for her on her DVR; he’d held her gaze with that same breathless affection from before and her own breath caught in her throat. “Thanks.”

He’d closed the door before she’d had a chance to stammer out “you’re welcome” and she’s left to stare at the space he’d just occupied.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to be happy.”

The sixth time was muttered, the first words either of them had spoken since leaving that parking garage, and for the first time in a very long time Amy was completely and totally speechless.

“I mean, I just got fired. Like, for _reals_ fired. I just lost my job. But I’m going undercover and that’s - that’s been, like, my _dream_ since before I could even talk? But also _I just got fired_. Am I allowed to be happy about that?”

“I don’t know,” she’d confessed, confused at the numbness clutching at her chest, confused at the dry prickle in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“I just got fired,” he’d repeated softly.

They had to move, she knew they had to move, but in that moment all forward motion felt wrong and scary and unknown. She’d thought of Teddy, probably sitting in her living room brewing pilsners right that second - and a distant sense of calm had stolen over her. “We have to go back to the precinct,” she’d said.

It must’ve sounded stiffer than usual - that’s the only explanation for why Jake would whip around toward her so fast, why there would be such anguish in his gaze for that first split-second. “I have to go quit,” he’d said.

 _Fired. Fired. Fired._  “I know.”

He’d studied her for a long moment. “Is it okay if I’m happy?” He’d asked tentatively.

She’d met his gaze then, met the uncertainty and the fear and the undeniable sparks of excitement, and she’d smiled. “I think so.” She’d confirmed with a nod.

He’d taken a breath and a look of acceptance had washed over him. “Okay. Okay, then I’m happy.”

Her smile was laced with wistfulness. “I’m glad.”

The sentiment did not carry over through the rest of that evening.

“I can’t be happy.”

This one floated out to her from the breakroom early one morning. She hadn’t even known he was in yet - hadn’t noticed his bag at his desk, the one she still wasn’t used to seeing again despite the fact that he’d been back from his assignment for over a week already. She’d frozen in her tracks, yet another ripple of uncertainty tearing through her veins.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be really happy again. I mean, after everything I saw and did while I was undercover, I really thought - I mean, God,” he’d paused and she’d held her breath. “I just really thought I would be able to stop thinking about her like that by now.”

She’d turned away and quickly stole back to her seat, pretending not to notice when he emerged with Charles ten minutes later.

“I shouldn’t be happy.”

That one came quietly, barely audible over the sounds of the perp snoring in the back seat. She’d stolen a glance at him over the center console, his blue drink still clutched tightly in her hands; he’d smiled, and even though his eyes never left the road she knew it was meant for her. “What do you mean?” she’d asked cautiously.

“Just - everything. Everything that went down. I feel really guilty, don’t get me wrong, but - you - and, and him - I’m trying really hard not to be happy, but…”

She very seriously considered grabbing the wheel and yanking at it again, but the fight had left her already and it just wasn’t worth it. So she’d settled back in her seat, forced her gaze out and to her right, letting her vision slide out of focus over the brilliant fall colors blurred around her. “Maybe you did me a favor,” she’d said quietly.

“How so?”

She’d shrugged. “I had every intention of breaking up with him, but…I kept putting it off. He’s boring, but he’s comfortable. And…I like being comfortable. I liked the routine and I liked having someone to share it with for a while. Like you and Sophia.”

She was still studying the landscape around them - that’s how she misses this furtive glance. “Right,” he’d said, and she pretended like she didn’t feel her heart fissure inside her chest. “Like me and Sophia.”

They don’t speak again until they’re back in Brooklyn.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to be happy.”

She heard it again in various forms after Sophia dumped him, after they got screwed over in Windbreaker City and after they rescued him from Hoytsmann. She heard it after the Jimmy Jab Games and after their case with Dave Majors and before that final case together, muttered to Charles on his way to the break room right before she’d cornered him and demanded to know what the hell she was missing.

It was the next time she heard it, though - the very next night - that truly threw her for a loop. The night, while so awkward and stilted at first, had quickly given way to what could really only be loosely described as a blur of pure joy. They were clambering out of a taxi in front of his apartment and her stomach hurt from laughing so long and so hard and this, this is the moment she’d been waiting her whole life for, that moment of complete and utter happiness and contentment and warmth and comfort and safety and joy and - 

“Am I allowed to be this happy?”

His question came filtered through the tail-end of a laugh, had sailed out on the wisps of a sigh. It was the first moment of startling clarity since they’d first sat down at that restaurant six hours earlier and it made her stop in her tracks, her smile slowly fading, the world around her narrowing down to this man nervously swallowing less than two feet away from her.

Words were hard to grasp through the haze of kamikaze but Jake’s shoulders were not - that’s why she’d pulled him closer to her, had angled herself up on the balls of her feet as he’d dropped his head slightly, had sealed her lips against his as slowly and tenderly as the alcohol and stiletto pumps would allow. It was messy and fervent and probably too obscene for a goodnight kiss at his front door but it didn’t matter - the taxi was gone anyways - so she’d lost herself in it, in him, in his warm and lingering touch and his quiet, heady moans that buzzed against her lips.

“You are absolutely one-hundred percent allowed to be this happy,” she whispered when his lips finally left hers.

His lips began wandering down across her jaw toward her neck and it wasn't long after that that he had her backed against the door, halfway focused on the darkening skin beneath his lips and fumbling with the lock on his front door.

He’ll ask her again every now and then, on lazy Saturday mornings when he wakes up slowly with his face buried in her hair spilling onto his pillow or pads into the kitchen to find her in his shirt flipping pancakes for the both of them. It’s soft with wonder, asked when she knows he’s truly taking stock of his life and is probably wondering what in the world he did to deserve this lot in life (she knows this, because every now and then she finds herself wondering the exact same thing), and she always responds with a long, slow kiss.

She’s only heard him ask it three times with anything other than contentment since the night of their very first date - once upon returning from Florida, born from the pain of his shot leg and the lingering uncertainty of their own synchronization; once on the drive home from the hospital after waiting for fifteen hours, armed with the knowledge that Gina was in a coma but was expected to survive; and one last time on the way home from the Brooklyn Metropolitan Detention Center, asked while both of them were still absorbing the fact that something had gone wrong when filing Rosa’s release paperwork that wasn’t fixed on time, forcing her to stay an extra night while Jake was cleared to go home.

She’d answered each one with a firm, reassuring squeeze to the fingers laced through hers - it was hard to find the words to comfort him when she herself was wondering the same exact thing.

It’s not constant, but it’s enough - it strikes a chord deep within her, reverberating back through the years and vibrating in her very bones, each instance blazing in her memory like a makeshift patchwork quilt spanning back over a decade to that first lonely stakeout in their prologue.

It’s heavy on her mind one bright morning in May, bringing out the kind of quiet introspection that drives both Kylie and Gina nuts. It’s especially annoying to the pair of them today - “You should be partying!” Gina cries - but Amy can’t quite help it. She’s had these words written for literal months now, revised and rewritten and tweaked a thousand times until they carved into her very soul. She could recite them in her sleep.

(She actually has recited them in her sleep; Jake will never tell her.)

They ring steady and true in her mind even as the rest of her seems to be quaking with nerves; they float and dance lighter than air as she takes her father’s arm and the audience comes into view and everyone is on their feet and they’re all looking at her, and it’s so scary for just a second.

The second is over the moment she spots him, front and center. Everything else fades away; suddenly it’s just the two of them in this big dumb church and he’s in a suit and she’s in a dress and his eyes are full of tears and he’s laughing, breathless and disbelieving, looking to be a hair’s breadth away from completely bursting into tears, and her heart is so impossibly full of pure and unadulterated love for the man at the end of the aisle.

He reaches for her the moment Captain Holt okay’s it and she lets him pull her up to him without hesitation, barely registering the delighted laughter and the chorus of _aw_ ’s that ripple through everyone around them when he up and yanks her into a tight hug right there at the altar. It’s overwhelming but he’s here and his deodorant is tangy and familiar in her nose and those words are back, pinging around in her head, and for a brief but serious moment she considers telling Holt he can sit so that they can get straight to the vow exchange.

They pull apart a moment later but their hands stay linked, fingers laced so tightly she knows both of their fingertips are white with the force of it (she’ll have bruises tomorrow). Holt begins speaking and somewhere in the back of her mind she knows the words he’s saying are heartfelt and incredible and she really wishes she could absorb them (thank God for the videographer) but all of her focus is on the tower of warmth against her right side.

She’s not sure when Holt queued them for the vows but suddenly she’s facing Jake directly, her grip still firm around his hand even as he reaches back for his notecards, thrust into his trembling hand by an openly-weeping Charles. She thinks he might want his hand back but his grip is just as firm on hers; he smiles at her, tearful and breathless, before shaking his head and jamming the cards into his pocket.

“I - I thought I knew what I wanted to say,” he starts, pausing for a moment as a confused, quiet laugh ripples through the crowd. “I did, I had it all planned out and I even had a librarian look over them for spelling errors, which, like, I was super proud of because that was totally Santiago-style.” Amy laughs that time, only just then becoming aware of the dried tear tracks cutting down her face. “But standing here - looking at you - I’m realizing that nothing I have written down is good enough. You’re my partner and my best friend in the world, you’re the love of my life. Of all the people on this planet there’s not another soul who I feel more at home with than you, and I’d do anything - _anything_ \- for you. You and I have been through a lot,” he pauses again, eyes closed briefly, and Amy squeezes his hand. “We have, we’ve, we’ve been through more than most people have to deal with in their whole lifetimes. But it’s only made us stronger. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t still be standing if it wasn’t for you. You’ve saved my life over and over and over again, more times than you even realize, so…I’m gonna spend every single second of the time I have left showing you every day exactly how much you mean to me. In sickness and health and all that other stuff. Always, Harry-Potter-style. I love you so, _so_ much.”

It is exceptionally difficult to stop herself from flinging tradition right out the window and kissing him right there on the spot. As it is she closes her eyes and lets the tears fall freely, concentrating on the steady caress of his thumb up her wrist. It’s steady and warm and grounding and exactly what she needs as Holt instructs him to slide the thin silver band that matches her sparkling engagement ring over her knuckle to nestle against the latter.

“Jake,” she starts once Holt gives her an exaggerated nod. “Twelve years ago we were on an overnight stakeout. The case was pretty open-and-shut, but the stakeout was necessary for some reason that I’ve forgotten over the years. It should’ve just been a boring, run-of-the-mill kind of thing, but…you said something to me that night that I’ve never forgotten. You told me that you didn’t think that you deserved to be happy.” He clenches his jaw but he’s smiling at her, small and shy, so she presses on. “It really, really stuck with me because you were - and still are - the happiest person I know. You have this unbelievable light about you, this ability to make anyone feel special and important and cared for. It’s funny you mentioned feeling at home - and for the record, I’ve had these written and memorized for three months now,” Amy directs this to the crowd, grinning at the answering laughter and Jake beaming at her when she turns back to face him. “There’s no one else in the whole world I’m more comfortable being myself with than you. You are everything I’ve been looking for and everything that I need and I think there was a part of me that knew that twelve years ago that very first time you said you don’t think you deserve happiness. Jake,” she squeezes his hand and he releases a shuddering breath, tears already streaming down his face but his gaze remaining fixated on hers. “I’m here to tell you, right now, in front of our family and friends and all the people we love, that I love you so much, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never, _ever_ doubt your right to happiness again.”

He releases something between a laugh and a sob that is echoed twice as loud by Charles. “Please tell me I can kiss her,” he begs of Holt.

“Not yet.” Holt says through a rather misty smile.

A strangled, distraught groan rips through his throat and the crowd before them laughs again, sympathetically this time, and even though there’s a part of her that longs to glance out and count the number of people wiping at their eyes she just can’t bring herself to look away from Jake’s bloodshot gaze. His hand shakes when he holds it out to her but she grabs it with her left, swiping a steady, comforting caress across the back of it with her thumb as she slides his matching silver band over his knuckle.

“Almost there,” she whispers.

It’s all excitement from there, all poorly-contained jitters that come in the form of Jake bouncing in the balls of his feet and Amy shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. The bag of glass is on the ground between them and she’s not quite sure if it’s the smashing he’s looking forward to most initially, but then Jake stomps on the bag and immediately sweeps her up in a kiss that boarders on inappropriate but she doesn’t care because they’re _married_.

 _Finally_.

The happiness is palpable after that, catching both of them up in it so quickly that the reception really is just a blur of talking and laughing and dancing and kissing, kissing, kissing, every chance they get. Stolen in the midst of their first dance and blown across the dance floor and hidden behind the reception hall door and on the way to the limo outside. It’s in the champagne bottle popped and the kisses stolen in the back of the limo with lips still burning from the bubbles and the way his hands can’t stop wandering over the lacy material of her dress and the mostly-flat curls in her hair where it falls to her shoulders and it’s them kicking their shoes off and stretching out across the limo bench to make out like teenagers because the drive to their hotel is a long one so they might as well take advantage -

It’s the way his eyes linger from his perch on their bed as she unclasps her necklace and removes her earrings, it’s the way he scoots to the edge of the bed and pulls her to stand between his knees and hugs her close, the comfortable silence feeling softer than usual in their still-ringing ears. It’s the way he looks up at her when she pulls away slightly, both arms draped over his shoulders as his loosen their loop around her waist, deeper and darker and more beautiful than space itself.

“I can’t believe I get to be this happy for the rest of my life,” he says softly.

It’s that - that answering throb in her chest, the way her entire being seems to melt on the spot - the culmination of coming so far and enduring so much - that makes her sink right down to her knees, frame his face between her hands, and pull him in gently for a kiss she feels all the way down in her toes.

“You do,” she rasps when she finally pulls away a long while later. “We both do. For the rest of our lives.”

They’re quite busy for the rest of that evening basking in that happiness, only remembering to speak one last time before tipping over the edge of unconsciousness - a quiet, breathless pair of “I love you”s that send each sailing into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


End file.
